


My Thirteenth Step

by somewhatcanon



Category: Repo! The Genetic Opera (2008)
Genre: Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Drugs, Failed Relationship, Other, Post-Canon, relationship, zydrate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-05-26 18:31:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15006824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhatcanon/pseuds/somewhatcanon
Summary: To me, the Grave Robber was an adventure in a man's body. He filled me with love and I filled myself with drugs until I broke my own heart.-Basically, the main character is nameless and genderless, and whoever it is gets addicted to Zydrate accidentally through their connection with Grave Robber.-This was named after the album Thirteenth Step by A Perfect Circle, which was written by the band's singer while he was in rehab for drug use. This work was in no way created with the intention of mocking or belittling the experiences of addicts. It is simply an exploration of the Repo! the Genetic Opera universe and my own theories about the experiences of one specific addict that I made up.





	1. A Stranger

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my husband Harvey (who showed me this musical)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+husband+Harvey+%28who+showed+me+this+musical%29).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 1\. We admitted that we were powerless over our addiction; that our lives had become unmanageable.
> 
> -
> 
> I'm lost. I'm running. I'm found.

I was running from the Repo Man. I owed him a kidney and a liver, and I knew he would catch me, and I was afraid of him, so I hid in a dumpster, then in an alleyway, running all the way into the slums of downtown. In this neighborhood, the few people that had an apartment, I knew, and everyone knew, were lucky. Most, here, sold themselves on the corners, but only on the corners, as people were dying everywhere else. That, or they were distributing Zydrate illegally. Those were the only ways someone from this neighborhood could earn money before dying like the rest of their peers who were much too proud to follow suit.

I hid myself in a literal hole in a brick wall, way back in another alleyway, in the corner. My lungs burned from the cold midnight air and my ribs ached from my heavy breathing. The pit of my chest burned. Somehow, I was safe, since the new Repo Man that Amber Sweet had appointed wasn't exactly as good as the last one, thankfully.

A blue light appeared in front of me suddenly and I jumped, my head jolting upwards and hitting brick as tears formed in the corners of my eyes. There was a man crouched down beside me with a Zydrate gun in hand, and he asked, "Something for the pain?" His eyes were narrowed and his eyebrows raised. He wore makeup to darken his eyebrows and around his eyes--or he was incredibly dirty, I couldn't tell. And his lips, thin, but not enough to have disappeared under the slimming black dirt/makeup, were pulled into a crooked and playful smirk.

"I'm...not...a junkie," I panted. I wanted to sound menacing and insulted, but my body was too exhausted to sound anything other than pained.

"Hmph." He stood and offered a hand to me, which I took, and I stood with him. He was very tall, and his boots contributed to that, considering that they lent to him at least four inches of platform height. Those types of shoes used to be very much in fashion, I remembered, thanks to Pavi Largo's influence, but fell out of fashion after only a few months. I assumed that this man in front of me had gotten them from some sort of thrift shop, or it was possible that they were stolen, though his shoes weren't my most prominent concern--the sirens I heard in the distance were, and I saw everyone begin to scatter. Still holding onto my hand, the man quietly said, "Follow me," and began running, and I was forced to follow until he showed me to a fire escape ladder. We climbed up to the highest floor, higher and higher, and I got dizzier and dizzier every time I looked back down. At the top floor he opened a window to an abandoned apartment, and I followed him inside. For a moment, we both breathed heavily, but he caught his breath far easier than I did. "The penthouse," he announced, his arms out wide beside him, smirk and breath returning to him.

"Who...are you?" I asked, again trying to sound tough and failing.

"They call me the Grave Robber," he replied with a deep, dramatic bow. It was so ridiculous I almost laughed.

For about a month after, we stayed in his little penthouse until I woke up without him one day. He was just gone. After taking care of me and giving me food and providing warmth and comfort for roughly four weeks, he was just...gone. Disappeared. He convinced me that everything was alright, that I was alright, and then he just left me there. I knew I had to learn to find food on my own if he didn't come back for me. I had to learn to survive without his help.

And I did as the days passed, lonely and desolate, and I learned to hate him. That was the only way I could keep myself from hoping he would come back. And I did hope, for the first few days or so. If I heard a small animal on the fire escape, or in the walls, or if I heard someone walking outside, I got my hopes up just to be let down upon realizing the truth, so I had to hate him. And so I did, for a while, until he came back, roughly another two weeks later.

"Where have you been?" I asked flatly, sitting in the middle of the floor, his blanket wrapped around my shoulders, and my voice was calm, with the tone of a parent whose child had returned after curfew, but not demanding--curious, if anything, with frustration lying underneath.

"I had to run," he explained, sitting beside me, but not looking at me. I hadn't looked at him, either, just in case it wasn't him.

"I see that," I replied, still monotone. "I asked where you were."

"Doing a deal." He stood to retrieve a duffel bag full of cash that he had dropped by the windowsill, and he unzipped it to show me the money. "A big one."

For a moment, I sat in awe, yet still aware of the cold I felt in my legs where they touched the floor. "You couldn't have warned me, though?" I asked, finally looking at him, less angry now but more hurt.

Shrugging, he pushed the bag so that it slid away across the floor. "I'm not used to having someone else here."

After contemplating it, I decided that made sense. He saw a poor soul and decided to save it and then he had to get used to sharing everything with it. Surely he hadn't needed a plan for weeks-long trips away from his abandoned apartment before I had moved in.

"You didn't die," He offered, almost impressed, after a quiet moment. "That's good."

"Ha," I laughed. "I guess you're right."

After that, the rest of our night was comfortably silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a kudos if you liked it so far!
> 
> This chapter is based on A Stranger by A Perfect Circle.


	2. Vanishing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2\. We came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.
> 
> -
> 
> Nothing else in the world matters but here and now.

We were together for about six months when I tried Zydrate for the first time. It was a beautiful, clear night, and we laid together on top of a mausoleum in the nearest graveyard. The moon shone bright and beautiful.

"Did you ever try it?" I asked him, and it took a half second before he could convince his eyes to turn away from the stars above us.

He then just stared at me for two seconds, as if trying to figure out what I said or what I meant, then replied with a shrug, "Once," and his attention returned back to the sky.

I let him enjoy another moment before asking, "What was it like?"

"Made me sleepy," he said. "I didn't like it. Too relaxing."

"Is that what you use it for, though?" I pushed.

"Maybe. It's just not for me."

Another minute or so passed. I'm sure he found it peaceful, but I couldn't help my curiosity. "Can...can I try it?" I requested, tentatively.

He let himself hesitate for another moment, eyes lingering on the sky, before finally replying, "I suppose it'd be better if you tried it with me than someone who didn't know what they were doing." Then, he reached into his jacket pocket.

"Oh, now?" I said. "We're doing it now?"

"That's what I assumed," he replied, frozen with his hand halfway out of his pocket. "Wanna wait?"

"Uh..." I thought about it. Yeah, I could do it now. Why not, right? "Nah, we can...we can do it now."

Without another word, he took out his gun and loaded it. Then he kissed me, and between kisses, he explained, "Makes it easier."

"Mhm." I smirked, not really believing him, but he wasn't lying. For a few more moments we kissed, and then his lips trailed down my neck, and then my chest as he took off my shirt, and then my stomach as he took off my pants, and then my hips as he moved my underwear aside, and I had never felt such bliss. And suddenly, as his lips hovered on the left side of my belly, I felt a sharp pain in the space between my crotch and left thigh. "Fuck," I mumbled through gritted teeth. It felt exactly like what it was: a needle. I knew the needle was clean because everything he used was always clean. It took a few seconds, but as soon as the needle had been removed, I felt only calm. Any worry or concern that I had before was gone. I mean, I had drank before, and certainly alcohol eases inhibitions, but this? Zydrate? God, it was like the afterglow of an orgasm that lasted forever.

I vaguely felt the shifting of being dressed, and I blinked slowly up at the sky. Grave Robber held my hand once he was done clothing me.

"Feeling okay?" He asked.

"Yeah," I mumbled slowly, barely able to think of words. I couldn't help it. And I loved it. Any worry of the Repo Man or GeneCo catching up to me were gone. I never thought of anything but the feeling of his hand on mine, and the heavy feeling of my limbs, and the cool of the marble below us against the warm of the air above us. It was like every joint in my body had been popped in just the right way, or like I was in a nice, warm bath after a cold winter day. It was like the day he found me, and it was like everything in my life was the way it was supposed to be. I could've vanished into thin air and been content to be at the will of the early summer wind.

He took me home that night and wrapped me up in a blanket. It was a new, clean one, which was all the more comfortable than the old, dirty one we used to have. The warmth and softness elevated my experience, and the comfort became too much to bear, so I fell asleep, and the next morning, I woke to his sleeping face next to mine.

And when we woke, the second my eyes opened, I felt...nervous. "Babe?" I whispered, shaking him awake.

"What?" he mumbled, never happy to be woken up if it wasn't necessary. "What is it?"

"I..feel like something's wrong," I reported, though I didn't know what. He rubbed his eyes before wrapping his arms around me lazily.

"Nothing's wrong," he assured me, and I knew he wasn't very patient in the mornings, and knowing this made me more anxious. "Lay down."

After a moment, I finally gave in. "I-I'm sorry, I don't know why but I'm just a little--"

"On edge," he finished for me. "It's just the Zydrate. Relax. It happens."

We laid back down and he drifted off again, but I couldn't sleep. I took some deep breaths and stared at the cracked, rotten ceiling, and I soon started to feel better, but my mind eventually wandered back to the calm I felt the night before. Zydrate proved to be such a convenient and wonderful method of relaxation. No more worries, no, not with Zydrate. But I knew I couldn't dive into it like that without forming an addiction. After all, there were far better ways to manage stress and anxiety than just leaping straight for such a hardcore drug. An hour of thought went by before it lulled me to sleep, but I dreamt of experiencing the lifted weight of anxiety and heaviness of my limbs once again, and I knew I could only dream of it, so I let it happen, and I indulged those dreams, even when they intruded during the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was enjoyable! Leave a comment or a kudos if you liked reading it!


	3. Weak and Powerless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 3\. We made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.
> 
> -
> 
> Everything starts coming together.

I've had problems with anxiety and insecurity my whole life. I remember being a child and wondering why I felt so different from everyone else. I grew up poor, and I was always told to work hard so I could build a life better than the ones my parents had, as if we weren't living the same life in the same small apartment with the same rats in the walls that wouldn't go away, no matter how many times we called the exterminators. My dad wasn't so nice, either, and my mom was always at work, and if she wasn't working, she was asleep or ill. I recall one morning specifically when I watched her drink something that she called her "special juice." I now know it was wine, specifically white, but it had an odd tint to it, as if it were slightly green and slightly glowing. At seven years old, I didn't quite understand what she was doing.

"Mommy drinks her special juice to help her get through the day," she said to me, and I didn't quite understand still. "You can't tell Daddy though, okay?"

"Why not?" I asked.

"Well, Daddy doesn't like Mommy's special juice," she explained, crouching down to meet my height. "He thinks it's bad for me, but he used to have his own special juice, too."

"Why does Daddy not have it anymore? Did somebody take it away?"

"It's not really very healthy," she said, getting irritated, but I couldn't tell at the time. She finished the glass, which was not a wine glass but a regular water glass. "But it helps Mommy do what she needs to do. So no telling, okay? This can be our little secret."

I nodded, and she popped a piece of gum into her mouth. "Good. Mommy loves you, okay?"

* * *

Withdrawal symptoms wore off quickly considering how low the dosage was and that it was my first time ever doing Zydrate. The anxiety subsided and the Grave Robber was next to me the whole time, making sure I felt okay. Sometimes, he would just hold me, letting his warmth comfort me, but other times he would make a joke about anything that was happening or around us. At first I would feel off-put by his usually poorly-placed jokes, but I admit they did help a little bit.

It was a week before I asked to do it again. He was surprised, at first.

"Withdrawal was a lot," he reminded me as I sat beside him in a hidden alleyway.

I nodded. "Yeah, but...I liked the high. It's just a recreational thing, y'know? I'm not trying to get hooked here, or anything."

"Not that I'd let you," he said, and I expected there to be an accompanying smirk, but there wasn't.

"Right," I agreed. "So...is that cool?"

He had another moment of contemplative silence before wordlessly reaching into his jacket for his Zydrate gun, and once again, there were a few intimate moments before he positioned the gun.

"Wait," I interrupted, propping myself up on my elbows to look down at him.

He froze, then looked up at me, confused.

"Can you...can we do more, this time?" I requested. "Is there any way to adjust the dosage?"

He nodded and turned a dial on his gun slightly. "Still good?"

I nodded, laying back again. "Yes."

Again, the injection sunk in, but this time, the bliss was heightened. I felt myself being dressed again, but this time barely. I felt like I could watch the stars from the ground here forever. It was like eating your favorite dessert for the first time, taking that first bite, over and over again. I suppose this was credited to the higher dosage. I had done Zydrate before, obviously, but this was the first time I had done this much of it, and even then, it wasn't a whole lot.

I didn't care if I had been fully redressed or not, though I thought I was. I didn't care about how my body looked with or without clothes, or about my mom's Zydrate-wine that killed her one day like a bottle of sleeping pills. I didn't care about when the Grave Robber left for however many weeks without telling me, or how my friends were probably wondering where the hell I was all this time, or anything like that. I only wanted to feel the love of the Grave Robber and his arms picking me up to bring me back to our home even though I didn't think I needed to be carried because I felt weightless. All of my anxieties were gone--for a few hours, at least. Then I realized that, with more Zydrate comes more withdrawal, but I didn't panic, because I couldn't panic while I was high on Zydrate because nothing could ever be wrong when I felt so good.

Panic was not what I did. Instead, I began to strategize. Maybe I could ask for more? Sure, maybe, but he'd be too afraid that I'd formed an addiction. Nobody forms an addiction after two uses, do they? Sometimes they do. Well when someone is addicted, sometimes doctors give the addicts smaller and smaller controlled doses to lessen the effects of withdrawal, so maybe that's what you can tell him.

That's what I told him in the morning as my eyes darted back and forth. "I heard a noise," I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He injected me with half the dose I'd received the night before, but he did so reluctantly. It'd taken a bit of convincing to get him to inject me two days in a row. "You're taking a break from this."

I nodded, and after a couple minutes, I relaxed again. I felt normal, but not my normal. This dose brought me to my normal self again, but this time, without my normal anxieties. High, but not zoned out and sleepy. "Maybe taking a break wouldn't hurt," I said, but I couldn't help but feel disappointed. Nothing else had made me feel so good. Come to think of it, nothing made me feel really, truly, actually  _good_ in my whole life. Being with the Grave Robber was incredible, of course, but he couldn't take away my anxieties. I was always worrying what others thought of me, especially him. But with the Zydrate...I was calm. Who cares what I look like? Who cares what others think? I do, until I'm high. As soon as the needle pierces my skin, I feel new somehow. I feel whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! This one's a little different and really starting to dive into the tough stuff. If you're scared now, brace yourself. It only gets worse from here. :)
> 
> Also !!! I really recommend that you listen to the songs that go along with the chapters. Each chapter is named after a song by A Perfect Circle. Might give you some bonus insight if you're interested in that.
> 
> And sorry for typos im gonna go back and edit it tomorrow probably but right now it's 12:20 AM oops

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a Kudo if you liked it! Thank you for reading! <3


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